


Dr Stamford's Prescription: The Problem of Sherlock Holmes

by Kalypso



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-13
Updated: 2011-08-13
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:39:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalypso/pseuds/Kalypso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock needs a home, and maybe something more. Can Mike find the winning formula?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dr Stamford's Prescription: The Problem of Sherlock Holmes

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for my first Sherlockfic anniversary.

"My landlord's throwing me out of Montague Street."

"Oh?"

"Found out about my experiments. He got it into his head that I'd blow the house up."

"Ah." Mike Stamford wondered whether this meant there was some work Sherlock Holmes had the decency to keep out of Barts, or whether it depended on the equipment and materials he had already spirited away to his flat. Probably the latter. "Have you anywhere to go?"

Oh dear, did that sound like an invitation? Helen would never stand for it. 

"Not really. I need to be somewhere central, and that won't come cheap." Sherlock looked round the lab. "Maybe I should just move in here. I could sleep on the bench - I don't need much rest. If I digitised my books I'd save that storage space..."

Mike didn't wait to hear where he proposed to hang his expensive suits. "No. I'm sorry, but that's out of the question. The agreement was that you could use this lab for essential scientific research when you're helping the police - definitely no bed and breakfast."

Sherlock nodded, as if he'd never seriously expected any other reply, but continued to look at him, evidently waiting for something.

Mike sighed. "I'll ask around and see if there's anything on the grapevine."

 

Nobody he asked had any ideas about affordable flats in central London whose landlords wouldn't mind dubious scientific experiments. (Mike gently told Molly Hooper that he didn't think a spare room in Pinner would fit Sherlock's requirements, even if the Metropolitan Line was handy for Barts.)

But walking through Holborn that evening - he took a daily walk on Helen's orders, trying to get his weight down - he began to think that solving the problem of Sherlock's accommodation might be a step towards solving the larger problem. The one he'd been pondering on and off over the three years since that embarrassed-looking police inspector had turned up asking for his assistance.

"There's this bloke who helps us sometimes - bit of a maverick, but he's useful - he needs access to medical research facilities. D'you think you could...? He's, er, _difficult_."

Of course Sherlock _was_ difficult - particularly those first few weeks, when he'd been so prickly every time Mike expressed a friendly interest in his work. After a while, it had dawned on Mike that these overtures might be mistaken for more-than-friendly interest. So he'd thrown a little more medical detail into his questions, and mentioned Helen once or twice, and fairly soon Sherlock's wariness wore off. It turned out that, when relaxed, he could be really rather charming.

Yet he was also rude, demanding, and completely unashamed about pinching equipment or specimens or anything else. Mike had learned to keep an eye on items he handed over, and which not to hand over at all. But he could see why those with less patience - or lacking recent practice with a five-year-old son - struggled.

Mike didn't think there was anything _wrong_ with Sherlock - in the sense of something to cure. But, though he could manage briefly convincing simulations of ordinary social behaviour and manners, most of the time he drove people up the wall. That seemed a pity; outside the lab it must impede him in his work, which seemed to be the only thing he really cared about. It was as if he had a limp when it came to human relations, and needed some sort of crutch.

A wife might do wonders, but he wasn't daft enough to attempt match-making for Sherlock Holmes. He wasn't even sure which way Sherlock inclined, if he did at all; Mike had never seen him express a hint of sexual interest in anyone, unless you counted those moments when he seduced a favour out of somebody. No, the solution was a friend, and that would be difficult enough. Even if Mike could think of a man with the necessary strength and tolerance, how could he persuade Sherlock to accept him?

But now, walking down Shaftesbury Avenue - in his preoccupation he hadn't realised he had come so far - Mike thought he'd found the answer to that one. _Flatmate._

 

It was Helen, bless her, who solved the first half of the problem. She'd been doing hip therapy at UCH with a patient who had mentioned her tenants were moving out - somewhere on Baker Street - she'd check when the lady came in on Wednesday, and ask if she was willing to speak to Mike.

Sure enough, Mike's phone rang. They got through the preliminaries, and he was trying to explain the potential tenant's eccentricities when he mentioned Sherlock's name.

"Sherlock? Not Sherlock _Holmes_?"

"Why, yes - you know him?"

"Sherlock? Lovely boy! He was such a help a few years ago, I might manage a little discount on the rent..."

"No, please, Mrs Hudson - I can't explain, but he must have a flatmate. Make sure the rent's for two!"

"Well, if you insist... who's his friend?"

"Um... that's not quite sorted yet."

"Well, never mind, just tell Sherlock to ring me. And say I _was_ Mrs Turner, but I had to change it."

 

"Oh, the _Turner_ case!" said Sherlock, with a dark smile. "Yes, that sounds good. But it's a flat for two, you say?"

"Problem?"

"I must be a difficult person to find a flatmate for."

"We've found a flat, we'll find a flatmate. Just talk to Mrs Hudson - she's very keen to see you again."

But it _was_ the problem, of course. Mike had hit lucky once; could he pull it off again? Perhaps Mrs Hudson might offer that discount for a few weeks while he searched, but he didn't want Sherlock deciding to exploit her kindness indefinitely.

He must _think_. He had a nagging feeling he knew the answer, though it wouldn't come into focus. Had he glimpsed someone from the corner of his eye in Piccadilly Circus?

Mike's schedule wasn't too busy today, so he'd take his walk at lunchtime for once - Russell Square, perhaps - and see if he could work it out.

**Author's Note:**

> In the pilot version of _A Study in Pink_ , Mike and John bump into each other in Piccadilly Circus, rather than Russell Square. I decided to regard that as fate's dry run, which didn't quite work out because Mike was too distracted.
> 
> Steven Moffat came up with a different explanation of ACD's confusion about the landlady's name, but I think mine - she wanted to drop her husband's surname - is more elegant.


End file.
